


I Don't Want To Die Alone

by AnorOmnis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnorOmnis/pseuds/AnorOmnis
Summary: Regulus goes to die. Sirius hates him.
Relationships: Regulus Black & Sirius Black
Comments: 3
Kudos: 68





	I Don't Want To Die Alone

Sirius trudged through the muddy grass, uncaring of the rain, his fine white collar hanging loose and damp around his neck. He was close now - he could feel it. The air was thrumming with magic. He fingered his wand restlessly - soon, he would be able to lose himself in blood and violence.

  
  


“ _ He appears to have been missing for nearly a week. Our reports suggest that the Death Eaters do not know his whereabouts. It does not appear to be a mission.” _

  
  


He had been tracking the Death Eaters for nearly two hours now. This was hardly his favourite part of the job - it was slow, methodical, and had far too little action. Still, his Animagus form wasn’t a dog for nothing. He possessed a keen scent for magic, and had been able to pick up on the Dark activity almost immediately. 

  
  


Sure, he ought to have reported it to Dumbledore and the Order, and they could have sent in a team to handle this - but somehow, he didn’t much feel like doing that. He didn’t much feel like doing anything except getting his hands on the first Death Eater he could find and tearing him from limb to limb.

  
  


They had obviously felt him coming - he had not been subtle in his approach, or made any attempt to conceal his magic. Stealth and subterfuge were for cowards - he wanted them to know he was coming, and he wanted them to fear him. Unfortunately for him, though, they seemed to suspect a trap and had begun to flee. They probably didn’t believe that a lone wizard would be willing to chase them down. And so, as he neared them, triggering what must have been an entire network of wards and alarms, they had frantically Disapparated, one after the other, and he had lost the scent.

  
  


Of all but one. He was obviously less experienced, and had not fled very far - only a few miles over. Sirius had picked up his scent again and immediately tailed him.

He was almost there, now. His blood thrummed madly with magic and rage, and in that moment, he felt young again. It was a strange thought to be having - he was in the pique of his youth, only twenty one years of age, and the most desirable young man in Muggle and Wizarding London alike. But the war had exacted its grim tolls - and with each successive death - the Prewetts, Dorcas Meadowes, Benjy Fenwick - he had felt more of his soul wear away at the edges, and the infirmity and fear of a far older man had set into him. In these dark times, it seemed that the only member of the Order who still had any semblance of youth in them was Dumbledore, in spite of his wrinkled face and majestic white beard.

  
  


But for now, Sirius was alive. Alive and ready - and he would not think about anything else.

  
  


_ “I am sorry to say this, Sirius, but we must always be prepared to confront the truth. I believe it possible he may have fled the Death Eaters. Given that he has not reached out to us, I suspect that Voldemort has already had him killed.” _

  
  


He reached an abandoned barnhouse, now a few miles out from London. The scent of magic was so heavy upon the air that it was almost suffocating. He pulled out his wand, and for a split second, his strength wavered, and he saw his brother in his mind’s eye. He brushed it away.

  
  


“ _ Reducto!” _

  
  


\--------------------------------------------

  
  


Regulus looked around. The house he had found was unremarkable - the last in a long series of shelters he had been flitting between over the past week. The Death Eaters would not be able to find him immediately. He would have an hour, at least. He would not need more. This would be the last time. After that, he would go to his final destination - somewhere no Death Eater would ever think to look for him, where none save Voldemort himself would dare to tread…

  
  


Except for himself. It would be his final resting place. Regulus gulped. He walked to the table, pulling a bottle of firewhisky from his satchel, and conjured a glass. He held it in his hand, peering at it sadly, then set it aside, uncorking the bottle and drinking from it directly. Fortified by the lightning rushing through his veins, he set paper and parchment on the table, and began to write.

“To the Dark Lord, 

I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.”

His hand began to tremble. He took another long swallow from the bottle, then continued writing.

\---------------------------------------------------------

  
  


The Death Eater was not unskilled, but he stood no chance. Bit by bit, as they exchanged curses, Sirius could feel himself gaining advantage, slowly closing in on his foe. Behind the silvery mask, he could see bright and shining eyes - his foe was frightened. 

  
  


“ _ Confringo!” _

  
  


Sirius’ curse struck true, and the edge of his opponent’s robes caught fire. The Death Eater quickly ducked behind a stack of boxes, and a hissing sound emanated from the shadows as he conjured a stream of water to douse the flame. But it was a costly manoeuvre.

  
  


“ _ Bombardo!”  _

  
  


The force of the spell was incredible - the boxes seemed almost to shatter into splinters, and the momentum of the blast smashed the helpless wizard into the far wall hard, from which he dropped to the ground like a sack of bricks. With a careless flick of his wand, Sirius disarmed his opponent, catching his wand as it arced through the air.

  
  


The Death Eater stirred feebly on the ground, struggling to breathe as he righted himself into a sitting position. His mask had cracked cleanly in two, and slipped off as he raised his head. Underneath was a face that Sirius recognized very well, having seen it often for the past twelve years.

  
  


“Mulciber.”

  
  


“Sirius.”

  
  


They had been friends, once. Sirius had been eight, and Regulus six, when the Mulcibers had first come to Grimmauld Place. Stephen Mulciber, aged fourteen, had been much too old to play with the Black boys, but Jacob, with the same age, height, and shy personality as Regulus, had fit right in with them. They had played at being Knights of Walpurgis all evening, and when it ended, had been sorry to say goodbye. From then on, Jacob had become one of the closest things the two had had to a friend.

  
  


As with everything in Sirius’ old life, Jacob had slowly been lost to him when he had been sorted into Gryffindor. He did not feel the loss too keenly - Jacob had never been half as exciting or talented or clever as his new friends, and though he had felt a pang initially, he recovered from the pain with all the buoyancy of an eleven year old boy.

  
  


Then Regulus and Jacob had come to Hogwarts, and to Sirius’ dismay, been sorted into Slytherin. The years seemed to flit by, and all of a sudden, he found that he could hardly recognize in his brother the kind, sensitive child that he had once known. Perhaps it was his own fault, a voice in his mind often niggled, perhaps it was because he had abandoned him for James, because he had never thought Regulus strong or brave enough to stand up to their parents as he had, perhaps that was why Regulus had turned into what he was now.

  
  


Sirius had ignored it - he was rather good at that. One could not grow up a Gryffindor in the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black without learning how to compartmentalize. And so he locked it away, deep in the same ignored part of his mind which housed his lingering affection for his parents, the momentary revulsion (and accompanying shame) he  _ still _ felt when he saw a Muggle-born, and his genuine pride to be the scion of one of the finest families in wizarding history.

  
  


Regulus was not his brother anymore. That was all there was to it. James was his brother now. And that was why, after the pair of them had caught Regulus and Jacob among a group of Slytherins who had hexed a Muggle-born girl, he did not hesitate to send a few well deserved Stinging Hexes at both of them.

  
  


He didn’t hesitate. Not for a moment. He didn’t.

  
  


And here he was now.

  
  


“Sirius,” said Mulciber, panting. He’d clearly shattered some ribs in his crash. “Please.”

  
  


Sirius did not respond. He stood tall above Mulciber’s slumped form, looking down at him with blazing eyes, his sharp and angular features shining elegantly in the soft starlight. He raised his wand. 

  
  


“Sirius…,” Mulciber’s voice cracked, “Please… Think of all we’ve been through together. Reg- think of Regul-”

  
  


Something snapped inside Sirius’ mind. The mention of his brother made him shudder, and feelings he did  _ not want to contend with _ \- guilt, fear, loathing, shame, anxiety - rose in his throat like bile, and he forced them down, drowning them out with rage, which he fed and fed, adding fuel to the fire, until it was all-consuming. 

  
  


It was Mulciber, he decided. Mulciber who was the problem, Mulciber who had dared to say the  _ name _ , Mulciber who would pay the price, Mulciber who had to  _ hurt. _

  
  


And in that moment, he wanted to hurt Mulciber more than he had ever wanted to hurt anyone in his life. He felt dangerous. He had been chained for so long - ever since the incident in their fifth year. Muzzled, like a dangerous dog that had savaged someone. Well, no longer. They were at war. Remus and James needn’t know what was about to happen here. A spell flitted through his mind - he remembered James’ pain when it had struck him, and had never seen anything so terrible in his life. He did not know the theory, but he had seen the movements and heard the incantation, and right now, he felt so awash with magic and anger that he knew he could do anything.

  
  


He brought his wand down in a fine arc. “ _ Sectumsempra.” _

  
  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


“Kreacher.”

  
  


Regulus’ calm summons was answered a moment later by an earsplitting  _ crack  _ as the Black family elf appeared in the cave. His head drooped in terror as he took in the familiar surroundings, shivering at the sight of the glowing island set in the middle of the lake. Eventually, his eyes fell upon Regulus, and he started.

  
  


“Master Regulus! Young master! The mistress has been so worried, yes she has, sick with grief at the young master’s disappearance. Confined to her bed for days, not knowing the fate of her child or of the noble House. You must come home at once, Master, and the mistress will be happy again!”

  
  


Regulus smiled kindly. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Kreacher.” He bit his lip nervously, a habit he’d worked hard to suppress since coming to Hogwarts. “I need to get to the centre of the lake. You mentioned a boat somewhere, right?”

  
  


Kreacher’s eyes widened. “But Master Regulus must not stay here - no, he mustn’t! This is a terrible place, yes, terrible, and old, and dead. Master must come back! Master-”

  
  


“-Kreacher, I order you to take me to the centre of the lake.” Regulus’ words had an immediate effect on Kreacher, striking him dumb. “I’m sorry,” he added, with a bit more warmth, “I hate to bring you here again, knowing what you’ve been through, but I need your knowledge to help me through.”

  
  


They sailed quietly to the island. At last, Regulus found himself looking down the potion-filled goblet at the object which had captured his mind for the past several days. This was it. There, at the bottom of the transparent liquid, lay the Horcrux. A shattered piece of Voldemort’s soul.

  
  


Regulus knew what splitting your soul meant. His own soul was shattered into countless little pieces, he was sure. But he could not abide by it. He felt like an old man, aged by the cruelty he had been forced to perform. Violence, he had come to realize, had two edges. Yet he had wielded it proudly, foolishly, cutting and torturing and hurting - until at last his soul lay in tatters and fragments. He hoped to be able to put it together again - in death, if not in life. This would be his chance at absolution.

  
  


“Kreacher.” 

  
  


The elf had been standing quietly nearby, eyes trained firmly on the ground, clearly petrified of the surroundings. At Regulus’ voice, he started. 

  
  


“Master?”

  
  


“The locket has to be destroyed. By any means possible. It’s the most important order I will ever give you.” His voice was quiet, but firm.

  
  


Kreacher nodded. He reached out for the goblet, terrified, but prepared to drink it once more. Regulus’ hand stopped his own. He looked up to see his master wearing a shy smile, the sort of which had not graced his face for many years now. 

  
  


“I’ll drink it.”

  
  


“No.”

  
  


“Yes. And when I’m done, I want you to put this in,” he handed Kreacher the fake locket, “take the real one, and get out of here. Leave me.”

  
  


“No.”

  
  


“I command you.” And Regulus, in a fit of sudden courage, picked up the goblet and drank deeply. 

  
  


_ Think well of me, Sirius. _

  
  


Then the screaming began.

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


Sirius felt as though he was wading through a river of blood - it seemed to be everywhere. He turned to his side and retched. A sudden wave of guilt and nausea assailed him. He had never done this before - never killed a defenseless enemy. Every other time had been in the heat of battle. He had never done this. He could see Remus and James and Peter in the corner of his mind, looking down at him disapprovingly. He could see Regulus, ten years old and afraid, staring at the pool of blood in horror. He loathed himself with incredible passion.

  
  


“Si..ri..us…”

  
  


He raised his eyes. Jacob lay on the ground a few feet ahead of him. His throat had been sliced open, and his vitality, throbbing and red, leaked out of him, pulling him closer to the grave with each passing second.

  
  


_ I can’t save you! _ Sirius wanted to scream.  _ I can’t save you, I can’t help you, I don’t know what to do _ . But he said none of it. Years of stiff, aristocratic pureblood rearing kicked in, and he drew himself up, standing tall, handsome, and cruel, uncaring and disdainful of the splashes of red across his fine clothing. Feeling more like a coward than ever in his life, he forced his face into a smirk, and turned to leave.

  
  


“Don’t… please… I don’t…” Jacob’s voice gurgled. 

  
  


In spite of himself, Sirius turned. He saw fear and urgency in Jacob’s eyes. “You don’t what?”

  
  


“I don’t want to die alone.” 

  
  


Sirius closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He walked over to Jacob and sat down by his side, clasping his hand. He couldn’t see the Death Eater anymore. Only a man so frightened of dying alone that he would rather have his murderer sit by him as he slipped into the void.

  
  


“Sirius…,” said Jacob, “where… where did Reg go?”

  
  


Sirius looked at him quietly. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

  
  


“I… miss… him…,” his voice grew fainter. “Did he run?... Leave?... I should… have left… too..”

  
  


And he died.

  
  


A few quiet tears slipped down Sirius’ bloodied face. He could not see the world around him. All he could see now was three boys, playing in their childhood bedroom - one brave and loud, the obvious leader, and two shy children following him, secretly thrilled at his attention.

  
  


“Reg, you fucking coward.” And he sobbed loudly.

\-----------------------------------------------------

  
  


The pain was over, and the parching thirst quenched. Cold, clammy, gray hands reached out from the water, and grabbed onto Regulus, slowly beginning to drag him under. He looked meaningfully at Kreacher, who wept pitifully, struggling against the order given him, but failing to resist as his magic forced him to Disapparate from the cave.

  
  


And Regulus was alone. He was frightened - more frightened than he could ever remember being. He had never been brave. That was Sirius. Sirius had been the Gryffindor. Sirius was the one who had resisted their parents. Sirius was the one who had never fallen to darkness. Sirius’ soul was still whole.

  
  


Sirius hated him. 

  
  


Regulus shuddered. He was terrified, but his soul was whole. He would never be innocent, but he did not feel unclean anymore. 

  
  


The hands dragged him fully under, and he could no longer see the cave, only murky water, and the faces of the dead, and he thought of Sirius again, and wished desperately for his brother to save him. 

  
  


_ I don’t want to die alone. _


End file.
